by B. K. Rivers
While I wait, I catch up on Facebook and go back and forth between posting my status as Hanging with Jordan Capshaw in the ER or Jordan Capshaw punched the wall of my barn and broke his hand! Though I decide it’s not my place to announce where Jordan is, and Gran can’t be exposed to salivating teenagers who would surely come flocking to our house anyway.
“Hey, stranger,” a deep voice says in front of me. I glance at the black boots, thick yellow pants with a reflective stripe climbing up his legs, and then make my way up his chest. Which coincidentally is covered in a yellow t-shirt and yellow suspenders. His dimples make my stomach flutter.
“Where’s your monkey?” I ask, wondering if he’ll catch my reference to the Man in the Yellow Hat from Curious George.
His dimples grow deeper as his smile increases. “My monkey is well hidden, and my yellow hat is in the truck.” Vic sits beside me and bumps me with his elbow. “You just can’t stay away from me, can you?”
“I think you have it backward.” I glance at my knees and notice how his are touching mine. “So, you’re a fireman?”
He nods and my stomach flutters return and I find myself quietly enjoying the smell of smoke and flames from his uniform. Okay, his hotness level just increased by a whole heck of a lot.
“Who are you here for?” he asks as he scans the waiting room.
Suddenly, I’m seriously hoping Jordan doesn’t walk out from behind the doors. I don’t want either to get the wrong idea.
“A friend hurt his hand, so I’m waiting to see if it’s broken.” There, the truth, but not in its entirety.
“He, huh?” Vic’s shoulders slump a little.
“He’s a friend.”
“So, if I were to…say, break my leg, would you wait here for me?” He’s fishing for information, but why?
“Are you planning on breaking your leg?”
His dimples return and heat floods to my cheeks. “Nah, just checking my friend status.” He stands, towering over me, and my face gets a front and center view of the front of his pants. And I’m sad to admit it, but I really want to know what he has on under his thick yellow pants.
“See you around, Jemma,” he calls as he walks out of the waiting room. I take a deep breath and grab my phone and send a quick text to Trish.
Hottie from HS is a freakin’ fireman.
She answers back almost immediately.
Get on that!
Chapter 10
Jordan
Jemma’s face is priceless when I meet her in the waiting room with my hand in a small pink plaster cast. I had my choice of two colors, pink or blue, and I chose pink to be a rebel.
“So, it’s broken?” she asks, and then slips her phone into her small purse. A girl with a tiny purse tends to have little baggage. I like that. There’s less drama.
“That’s what the doctor says,” I say as I attempt to wriggle my fingers in the cast, though all I succeed in doing is sending a jolt of pain up my arm and into my stomach. Jemma jumps to her feet and grabs my elbow and then drops it as though it was an accident that she touched me. The pills the doctor gave me must be kicking in because the pain is dissipating and I’m feeling damn good.
“Listen, babe, you can touch me all you want.”
Jemma takes a few steps back and looks at me with a scowl and says, “Do not call me babe. Are you done here?”
My eyelids grow heavy and my smile grows wider.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s go.”
Jemma grabs my elbow and drags me through the hospital doors and into her car. The sunlight burns my retinas and with the hurried speed she’s pulling me at, I’m betting the sun is hurting her eyes too.
“Get in.” She slams the door, jarring my elbow, and leans against the trunk of her car. She’s moving as though she’s having an in-depth conversation with someone on her phone. I can see her waving her hands in frustration and then her shoulders slump as she jams her phone back into her purse. She pauses just before she opens her door and climbs in the seat beside me, landing with a harrumph.
She shifts the car into drive and squeals out of the hospital parking lot like she’s fleeing from an impending explosion.
“Everything okay?” I ask while I hold onto the oh shit handle above the passenger window.
She purses her lips, clenches her jaw, and slides around a sharp corner. “Oh, everything is just peachy,” she says through her tensed jaw. “It’s not like you didn’t have me break the law by peeing in that cup for you. Or the fact the doctor prescribed a drug addict prescription pain pills. Or—” she takes a breath and continues her rant, “—or that you’re a complete ass who I should just dump off at the next corner and be done with. But oh no, you had to go and get your addicted ass kicked out of your band, and manage to alienate the only people who you could have called your friends. And, not to mention, you’ve gone and broken your hand by punching a hole in my hundred-year-old barn wall!”
At this point, I’m not sure this girl is entirely human. I mean, no girl should be able to speak that fast and raise her voice octave after octave. I mean, not even freaking Mariah Carey can do that.
“Are you done?” God I hope so.
“Am I done? Seriously?” She slams on the brakes and I lurch forward, missing the windshield by millimeters. “I’m stuck with you! Jeremy, your manager, says you’re my problem now. I mean, who ruins their life so badly that his friends want nothing to do with him? You’re like a virus, infecting all those around you, destroying the good that surrounds you.” She takes another deep breath and I don’t think she’s anywhere close to finished with tossing out her insults. “And pink! Oh my God, could you be any more irritating and…and…”
“And?” I ask when it’s obvious she doesn’t know what else to say. Two breaths pass her lips before she continues driving. “I thought you were going to keep going, all the way back home.”
She groans and leans her head back in her seat. Is it wrong I’m kind of turned on?
“Home? Gran’s house is not your home; it’s mine. You’re a guest, and a temporary one at that.”
“Is there a bus station in this boring town? You could just drop me off there and I’ll be on my way.”
Jemma’s mouth drops open, her bottom lip quivers, and a small, breathy squeak escapes. Yep, I’m definitely turned on.
“Isn’t that what you want? To be rid of me?” I’m testing her now. I can tell by her inability to speak that she’s unsure of what she wants. I’m going to dig until I get an answer.
“There is no bus station in Torrance—it’s too small of a town.” Her voice is soft, almost hesitant.
“So…you don’t want me to go?” Why am I egging her on? What is it I want from her?
She steers the car quickly to the right and pulls into the parking lot of a small grocery store. She parks the car, grips the steering wheel with both hands, and breathes silently through her nose, all while staring at the automatic doors of the building. We sit in the car for several minutes and watch as at least a dozen people enter and exit the store. I feel almost as though I’m intruding on some strange personal ritual or internal war. It’s strange to watch this girl tap her fingers nervously on the steering wheel, how her eyes dart from the grocery store door to her hands and then the door handle like she doesn’t know if she can go inside.
My legs are growing antsy, bouncing at my heels. After about the twentieth person has exited the store I’ve had all I can stand.
“Are you going in or should I?” I say so abruptly that Jemma jumps in her seat.
“Huh?” she says, as though she’s just come out of some sort of trance.
“The store? We’ve been sitting here for almost ten minutes. Did you need something here or are you just waiting for me to get out?”
She blinks several times, clears her throat, and then sits up straight. “Give me the pills,” she says while still staring at those damn doors.
“That would be a negative.” My hand automatically goes
for my pocket where the pills are safely tucked away. “I need them for the pain.”
Jemma finally turns and looks at me but I can’t read anything in her face. Her rich, blue eyes look lost and the color has drained from her cheeks.
“The way I see it, you have two options,” she says firmly. “Option number one is to hand over the pills and come back with me to my house where you can sober up, get clean, and then be on your way.”
“And option two?” I ask, not really liking option one.
“Option two is keep your damn pills and get out of my car right now. Leave Torrance, forget where it is and that you ever met me and Gran. Be on your way and continue ruining your life and the lives of your friends.”
I consider her options, and somewhere in there, there has to be an option three. The box she’s created is too confined, too small for someone like me. She believes she’s offering something small and normal, but what she doesn’t realize is it’s something huge. But that part of me—the part of me that would have chosen that life a few years ago—disappeared the moment I chose life on the road, losing home and stability.
My bandmates became my family, and the crazy shit we did in the beginning was only fuel to my growing hunger for more. More of everything. Jemma’s first option strips all of that from me, tears away the part of me that keeps me going, keeps pushing me to do one more show, swallow one more pill, or find the next high. I’m not willing to give that up.
On the other hand, what choice do I have? Those who I have called family for the longest time have abandoned me; they’ve called it quits. Which is funny, because if it hadn’t been for those same guys, I never would have done half of that crazy shit. It’s like they led me to water and forced it down my throat until it was the only thing that kept me going. And now they’ve grown tired of the monster they created.
“I’ve got to run inside and grab a few things. I hope you’ve made your decision by the time I get back.” She turns off the ignition, pockets the keys, and leaves me in the car to think. The way I see it, I’ve got two choices: stay in the car or get out. Why would I stay? If I left, what would I do? Where would I go? Why the hell have I put myself in this position?
Chapter 11
Jemma
I’ve never been so nervous in my entire life. Well, that’s not true I guess, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve just given Jordan Capshaw an ultimatum, which I really have no place to give. It has to be his choice, and I know that. But somehow I find myself unable to kick him out on the street to let him fend for himself. Maybe there is something fundamentally wrong with me. I mean, I did just sit for ten minutes staring at the grocery store. Though I do it almost every time I come here.
It’s the dumbest thing really, but I feel like everyone in there knows me, knows what happened, and only judges me. But that’s dumb, no one knows except me and it will never happen again. I won’t let it.
I grab a basket, sling it over my arm, and hurriedly gather the things we need: milk, bread, honey, and some odds and ends for dinner. The cashier, Darcy, asks how Gran is doing and I politely answer her. What else can you do but say things are good? No one wants to hear about the bad, and if you do happen to bring it up, they only tilt their heads slightly to one side and give you the sad puppy-dog eyes. So, even though things seem to be going okay with Gran, I just smile and tell her what she wants to hear.
As I near the store exit my heart begins to pound furiously in my chest—Vic is coming through the doors. It’s too late to turn the other way and I can’t just walk by without saying anything. Quick, think of something.
“I swear you’re following me.” Okay, not the greatest line.
“Wow, three times in one day.” He smiles back. “Of course it is a small town, it was bound to happen sooner or later.” Crap. Why does he have to have dimples that are so touch-worthy? “So, your friend. How is he?”
“His hand is broken, but he’ll live.”
“So, since we keep running into each other, have you changed your mind about going out with me?”
A sigh escapes my lips before I have time to stop it. “I’m just not in a place to be dating right now. I’m really sorry.”
Vic moves closer, blocking my exit, and his proximity makes me nervous. Nervous of my desire to run my hands down his arms and feel his muscles ripple at my touch. This is so not cool.
“I’m going to wear you down,” he says as he inches closer until I can feel his warm breath tickle the skin on my neck. “Don’t make me wait too much longer.” His whispered request fills me with such primal lust it nearly knocks me over. He steps away, kills me with his smile, and tips a two-fingered salute my way. Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath to try to convince myself there’s nothing I can’t handle, I walk through the doors to face the person who may or may not be in my car.
There is a good chance Jordan will either be gone, or still in my car but pissed. I would be pissed…and gone. I reach for my keys, exit the store, and try not to look at my car. I’d rather not know if he’s gone until I get into the driver’s seat. It takes all my will power not to look through the windows of my car, and when I open my door I see a pair of long legs covered in black pants seated on the passenger side.
“I need to know your decision,” I say, and then hold my breath. I hand him the milk and the two bags of groceries. “Also, they had some flip-flops, so I bought you a pair, I hope they fit.”
Jordan digs through the bags and pulls out a pair of plain navy blue flip-flops and shoves them onto his feet. They seem a little small, even though I bought him the extra-large pair.
“Thanks,” he says, and grabs his wallet from the dash. “How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. They were only like three bucks.”
“Okay.” He sets the groceries on the floor between his feet and sighs. “I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet. Up until thirty seconds ago I didn’t have a pair of shoes, so if I wanted to leave I really couldn’t. So, if you’ll give me one more night to really think about it, I’ll know what I want to do in the morning.”
“I can’t let you have those pills in my house,” I say cautiously.
“I’ll keep them outside then,” he says with a smile. He rolls the bottle around in his hand and then tosses them into my lap. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to relax until we get back to your house.”
“Sure. Okay.” It’s not like we’ve got that far to go, only a few miles, but I guess I didn’t expect him to just tune me out, or willingly hand me his pills.
As I park the car in front of my house, Gran slowly makes her way onto the front porch to greet me as she has done ever since I was able to drive. Her smile fades as she watches Jordan exit the car, and for a moment I feel slightly hurt that she so obviously dislikes him. And then I remember all he has done to himself and I swallow my pride.
I grab the milk from Jordan and the two grocery bags as well and head up the stairs, kissing Gran on the cheek before taking the groceries into the kitchen. The sweet smell of cornbread hits me as soon as I enter the house, making my mouth water. Gran’s cornbread is the best I’ve ever tasted; it has even won awards at our county fair.
“What is that amazing smell?” Jordan asks with a grin so large I think his face might shatter.
“Don’t you go eating any of that. You’ll wait for dinner, young man,” Gran says as she quickly slaps his fingers away from the pan of cornbread. I laugh to myself as I put away the groceries and watch Jordan’s face alight in shock that my gran just scolded him. Maybe he’s needed someone along his path to scold him every now and then. His slack jaw makes him look like a lost puppy.
“Is she always this mean?” he asks as Gran leaves the room.
“I can hear you, boy.”
Laughter spills from my lips and it feels good, really good. Somehow I know things are going to work out. Jordan will make the decision to sober up and stay clean and then, I don’t know, but maybe he’ll be happy. Mayb
e then I can move on too and pick up the pieces of my life I’m not proud of.
“You think that’s funny?”
“Not really,” I say through unstoppable giggles. “It’s just, you should have seen your face.”
“Well, I’ve had about enough of this torture from you both, I’m going upstairs to shower. Let me know when dinner is ready.”
Before I have time to think of some kind of smart retort, Jordan is off and running up the stairs and I’m left in the kitchen to prepare dinner. Not that I wanted or needed his help, but a little gratitude never hurt.
By the time dinner is prepped and in the oven, my stomach is rumbling loud enough I’m pretty sure people in the next town over can hear it. I check on Gran, who is napping in her blue chair, lightly snoring. Gran hasn’t been totally put together like she used to be when I was younger, and with the cancer she seems even more disheveled than normal. I say a silent prayer that the medicines truly are helping her.
I hear the shower turn off upstairs, which means hopefully I can grab one before dinner is ready. The bathroom door is ajar when I get upstairs and through the gap I can see Jordan drying off with a towel. He is quite the picture to look at, with his long, lean muscles and damp hair. He’s a bit taller than Grandpa was, but maybe Gran will let me go through what she kept of his to see if anything would fit him. One pair of pants and a shirt isn’t going to last him very long. I slip past the bathroom but the floor creaks and Jordan pops his head out of the door. I cringe and turn around, hoping he doesn’t catch the blush on my cheeks.
His eyes dart back and forth between the empty hallway and me and I can tell he’s having a hard time focusing on anything at all. I ball my hands into fists and want to punch him, want to knock some sense into that thick skull of his.